


A Song of Vaults and Madness

by LoganG, Vandereer



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Gore, Minor Injuries, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoganG/pseuds/LoganG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vandereer/pseuds/Vandereer
Summary: Athena and Krieg are gladiators fighting for a cruel king's entertainment, but they must also fight for their freedom.Lord Rhys of house Strongfork also craves freedom, but getting it might not be so simple...





	1. Athena

**Author's Note:**

> I think Benioff and Weiss should be dragged out into the street and shot.  
> Now that I’ve gotten THAT out of my system. Here is a Borderlands AU heavily inspired by Game of Thrones/ASOIAF. There will be no sexual violence because I think after GoT ended we are all collectively done with that shit.  
> This isn’t to ‘fix’ GoT or anything, just a joining of two things we happen to like a lot. Enjoy!

The Red Sword and the Great Dragon stood at the arena’s gates, anticipating the violence soon to come.

Athena turned to her hulking companion, his shoulders and neck were so thick they rivalled a bull’s.

“Are you ready?” she asked him, already knowing the answer. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his restless movements, his muscles twitching under his plated arm-guard. He clutched his enormous battle-axe tightly and shifted it from his shoulder to his hand. A dull thud echoed against the stone walls as he thumped the handle against his palm.

“Strip the flesh…” Krieg growled. His eyelid twitched, barely visible in the darkness beneath his roaring dragon helm.

“...Salt the wound!” Athena finished, raising her sword. She squeezed the leather-wrapped hilt and the red steel glittered in the low light. 

A sudden clatter of chains stirred them to step forward, and the heavy metal gates in front of them started moving upwards. She cast a long shadow onto the sand as they stepped out, the owl’s wings on her helmet spread wide.

The crowd cheered wildly as the pair marched over the blazing hot sand towards the center of the arena. Athena raised her sword and shield over her head and roared back at them. Her cry was lost under the noise, but she could hear Krieg screaming too. As if their victory were already certain. 

Of course, victory was certain. With her training and Krieg’s brute strength, they always won. She almost felt bad for the untrained boys and petty criminals they threw at them. Less so for the slavers, she enjoyed watching them be torn asunder by Krieg’s axe.

A horn blew somewhere and the rest of the gates in the arena opened, crowds of fighters streamed towards them. Every day they seemed to throw more and more foes against them, perhaps hoping sheer numbers would finally bring their winning streak to an end.

Krieg charged at their foes with a scream, scattering the smaller fighters and urging the braver ones forward.

He chose a towering man covered in scratched steel plate armor as his first victim, baiting the man into swinging a heavy blow at his head. Krieg ducked under the sword and swung his axe upwards. The crowd cheered as a fountain of blood sprayed from the wound.

Athena felt her shield thrumming under her hand, the magic imbued in it growing impatient. She too waited, until a particularly brave man charged her way screaming. She dashed forward to meet him, slicing through his bare chest. Another man she ran through with her sword, then whirled to meet the steel of a third. Deflecting his blade, she slammed into him, sending him crashing to the ground. 

The shield continued to hum and tremble until she couldn't hold onto it any longer. Blades sprang from the edges as she hurled it in an arc towards the nearest man. It separated his head from his body without losing momentum. She watched with a smirk as it went on to effortlessly eviscerate two more foes. Once it returned to her forearm, she could sense its satisfaction.

Krieg stood on the shoulders of a man even bigger than he was, holding the blade of his axe under his neck and trying to messily chop off his head.

As she watched, Krieg tumbled forward onto the sand as the juggernaut fell, springing back up and waving to the crowd, before he pulled a small glass bottle from his belt- his secret weapon. He put the bottle to his lips and pulled the gas into his mouth. The elemental relic built into his mask ignited as he exhaled onto the crowd of fighters, unleashing a long jet of flames. The crowd went to their feet and cheered as he roasted his foes in their armor. 

The few who had escaped unburned ran to their king for mercy. In all Athena’s years of fighting in the arena, she had never seen King Jack give a single vote of clemency. He always wanted to see blood, regardless of how much they begged or how well they had fought. Today of course, was no different. His thumb plunged downwards, and Athena and Krieg sent sword and axe crashing down on the doomed men.

King Jack stood up from his plush viewing booth and applauded them, his jewelled fingers glittered when they caught the light. 

“A fine display!” his voice boomed out, and the crowd hushed. “The people love a hero do they not? And today, our heroes of the arena are clear. But!”

He raised a finger, making the crowd wait with bated breath, and then a little longer so that an annoyed murmur began to break out.

“But!” he continued, finally, “There can be only one hero of this arena. Tomorrow at noon, Athena the Red Sword will fight Krieg the Great Dragon in one-on-one combat!”

Whatever the crowd’s reaction was, Athena didn’t hear it. It felt like the sand beneath her feet was dragging her down, and the noise washed over her.

She looked at Krieg, unable to read the expression in his one visible eye. 

“The winner will gain not only their freedom,” King Jack continued, “but enough gold and servants to live comfortably for the rest of his, or her life.”

King Jack gave them a predatory smile from under his white mask, like a cook deciding which was the juiciest bit of meat to throw on the fire.

Could she kill her fellow fighter? She was certainly confident she could win, but Krieg was one of the few people she could call a friend. She felt sick, only able to stare at the sand until King Jack allowed them to leave.

Back in the dark barracks, they walked silently towards the blacksmith’s. Hot air blasted her face as she stepped into the dark cave of hanging iron weapons and glowing molten steel. The blacksmith beat a white-hot sword into shape, her sweaty blonde hair hanging in her face. Athena pulled off her arm guard and helmet, swiping a strand of equally sweaty hair from her forehead. The blacksmith’s bulging muscles were always a distraction when Athena tried to have a conversation with the woman, and a small part of her was happy to wait and watch her work. Janey perked up when she noticed them and gave Athena a smile.

“You’re looking glum, my fair maiden.” she paused to dip the sword into a bucket of water, “Bad news?”

“King Jack wants us to fight each other in the ring.” Athena said.

Janey’s dark eyes widened. 

“Oh.”

“The crown is nought but frozen blood, and it GROWS AND GROWS!” Krieg ground out, gesticulating wildly, “We melt it with fire and HATE! Gluttonous, he rips us open with golden hands! He devours the flesh and screams for MORE!”

“It’s just like he says.” Athena muttered. “We either fight, or refuse to fight and be executed.”

“I feel the red beak, peck-pecking at my ribcage.” Krieg moaned dramatically, “My heart, it HURTS!”

“I’m worried about Krieg,” Athena continued, “If he won, do you really think they’d let him back into society? They don’t let those touched by the Vault become lords or keep servants. They’d kill him too, or just keep him in here for the rest of his life.”   
Janey gave her a sad smile.

“Athena, sweet one, your life is in danger too.”

“I wasn’t trained to consider my own life a priority.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’m here!” Janey leaned in and tugged a lock of her hair playfully. “Meet me back here at midnight, I think I might be able to help you.”

Athena left the blacksmith’s slightly baffled, wondering where Janey’s confidence came from. It did little to alleviate her worries as she and Krieg walked back to their cell.

*

Athena spent that night sitting in the middle of the cell she shared with Krieg, watching the moon rise to its zenith through the tiny window. As long-time champions of the arena, they were mostly free to come and go as they pleased, the cell’s door was rarely locked. Not that there was anywhere to go, unless one enjoyed walking the long circle that made up the arena’s living areas. Krieg curled up in the corner and alternated between snores and dark mutterings. By the time the moon had fully risen, he was talking in earnest. With his rapt air and monotone voice, he could almost be on stage at a recital.

“The door stays shut, yet Oblivion claws from within. It  _ screams _ for blood and pain and death…” Krieg muttered. “The horned beast laughs and promises to share a feast… A lord with a captive twin paid his dues, he knows the summons will come, the beast hungers. But he will corrode and splinter in the beast’s teeth.”   
Athena hardly dared to look at him, she felt almost like she shouldn't. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a faint purple light emanating from under his mask. 

He shuffled and kept speaking. “Beneath her mask lies another mask, she forgets her lines but she plays the wrong role well. The crowd applauds when she falls from the stage. The fool is guarded by shadow puppets, but a sharp eye can see through a mummer’s trick… the beast smells blood… the beast...” His voice grew slower and slower before stopping.

Athena stood and walked over to him, making sure he was asleep again before nudging his shoulder. “Krieg, wake up.”

Krieg snorted and jerked. His eye blinked slowly at her as he came to. There was no longer any purple light, just a sleepy man in a mask.

“It’s time to go.”

The blacksmith’s was a very different place in the middle of the night, dark and cold. The fires had been extinguished hours ago, the warm glow that filled the room replaced with cool moonlight.

Athena jumped as a warm hand suddenly touched her arm.

“Athena! Come with me.”

Janey’s tall, muscular form was barely visible in the darkness, the small lantern she held did little to light the room. Its wick was trimmed short so that it cast only a dim light. She led them to an old oak door, beyond which was a roughly made sandstone tunnel.

“It’s a bit of a perilous route, you might want to hold onto me.” Janey said.   
Athena lifted an eyebrow.

“So you don’t stumble I mean. The floor is... uneven.”   
Athena took Janey’s arm, and grabbed Krieg’s thick fingers with her other hand. The passage Janey led them through might have been a regularly used corridor before parts of it collapsed.

Some parts of the tunnel made Athena breathless as she squeezed past, and behind her Krieg had to throw aside chunks of rubble to get his hulking shoulders through.

"If you knew about this tunnel, why did it take you until now to escape?”

"It used to be more blocked off. I've been clearing it piece by piece for some time." Janey squeezed her hand and slowed to help her over a fall of rubble. "But aside from that… I didn't really have anywhere else to go."

With a quick, friendly glance over her shoulder, she added, "I guess you finally gave me a good incentive."

It was a relief to finally get to the end of it. Moonlight, along with cool night air filtered down from a grate above them. Janey clambered up the rough stone handholds. There was an echoing rattle as she knocked the rusty bars loose. Past the grate was more rubble, as if someone had tried to block the exit off but gave up halfway through. Athena gasped with relief when they were finally out in the open, a good mile or so away from the back entrance of the arena.

Krieg's head emerged from the tunnel behind them in a shower of dust. The rest of him burst from the tunnel like a cork from a bottle.

“Are you well, Krieg?” Janey asked.

"Rebirthing!" Krieg cried cheerfully.

"You have got to keep your voice  _ down!  _ If we’re seen, we’re finished. _ "  _ Athena whispered.

Krieg nodded and his eye crinkled.

"Clever birds fly in the night." he said quietly, as if certain she’d know what he meant. 

Athena blinked at him. "I believe you're thinking of bats."

Inhaling the cool night air was like breathing for the first time. Athena hadn’t been outside the arena’s walls in so long. Over the rooftops, the white stone and glass tower of King Jack’s castle glowed, even in the darkness.

“Where do we go now?” Athena asked.

“Out of Opportunity, of course. They’re not going to be happy when they realise they just lost their two most prized entertainers.” Janey said.

Athena studied the high city walls with mounting trepidation. Distant figures marched across the battlements, and torches glowed bright against more white stone.

“We keep to the side streets, and head for the docks.” Athena said, hoping her mental map of the city was still accurate. She had memorized the straight roads and dark, tunnel-like alleyways long ago.

Athena took the lead, darting across alleyways and checking around every corner before waving the others on. She almost felt like she were back with the Crimson Lance, on her way to a kill. Sneaking unseen through the night was a pleasure she didn’t ever realise she missed.

Presently they reached the docks, where King Jack's fleet lay moored. His sleek white pleasure liner sat amongst the other ships like an overfed white swan amongst ducks.

"Who goes there?!" A voice boomed down from the walls. Athena cursed herself, she had gotten sloppy after too many years of imprisonment.

"THE HOLY VESSEL OF MEAT AND SWEET VAPOURED DAYDREAMS!" Krieg bellowed back with his arms spread.

Athena barely had time to pull him back before the cries of 'notch, draw!’ then ‘loose!' started spreading along the walls. Arrows thudded into the ground where Krieg's feet had been moments before. The three ran down the ranks of ships, nowhere to escape to but the end of the docks.

“We’ll have to swim for it, come on!” Janey shouted as arrows whistled past their heads. She dove into the brackish water first. Krieg crashed in after her, flailing and thrashing white foam around him. 

Athena took a deep breath and dove in, sinking alarmingly fast with her heavy shield over her back. She had no concept whatsoever of how far they’d have to swim to reach the Highlands.

Arrows hissed through the water behind them, spurring her to swim on. Athena had to clamp her mouth shut as a hot bolt of pain shot through her armpit. As she fought to keep swimming, water came in through her nose and forced her mouth open. Bubbles filled her vision as she sank. The water grew heavier, pressing in on all sides. Just as she began to lose track of which way was up, a thick arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to the surface. Krieg shoved her awkwardly over his shoulder as he paddled, she was glad of his monstrous strength - not for the first time.

Waves rocked around them, but they seemed to have cleared the rain of arrows. She looked over Krieg’s shoulder to see beacon fires being lit on the city walls, and she could hear the clanging of bells. King Jack would not let them go easily.

When they finally made it to shore, all three of them collapsed in a sodden heap. Half of Athena’s body was still in the water, the sand around her dark with her own blood.

“Is everyone okay?” She panted.

“We’re fine, but _ you _ scared us half to death!” Janey said, eyes wide as she looked at the broken arrow shaft protruding from her armpit.

Athena grunted as she pulled it out. The wound wasn’t deep, the arrow head had grazed her skin and got stuck in the padding of her chest plate.

“It’s nothing serious.”

She almost pushed Janey away when she tried to get a look at it, but the blacksmith was intent on helping her.

Janey pulled a strip of cloth from her smock and tied it under her arm to stem the flow of blood. Despite the pain, Athena found herself smiling gratefully. She never knew someone who spent all day holding a hammer could be so gentle.

Day was starting to break, and she could see the dark silhouettes of the hills looming ahead of them.

“Where do we go now?” Athena said, the pine-covered hills seeming as dark and dangerous as the sea they had just escaped.

Janey reached to her belt and opened up a cylindrical case. Inside was a thick calfskin map.

“We should avoid the main roads and put the Highlands behind us, find you somewhere to get you patched up properly.”

Janey studied the map, the Highlands looked very big compared to the small island Opportunity rested on. Athena felt exhausted just looking at it. She looked over as Krieg uttered a frustrated growl. He paced at the base of an enormous pine tree and looked up at something in its branches.

“False eyes!” he bellowed. 

They followed his gaze to see an enormous bird perched on a high branch. It watched them with pale milky eyes, its leathery wings folded neatly and a crown of red feathers bobbing in the gentle breeze. Athena wasn’t familiar with wildlife, but she could tell something about it was strange. Its translucent eyelids blinked slowly as it watched them.

“That’s a bloodwing!” Janey said. “What’s it doing this far south?”

Krieg growled and shuffled his feet in a patch of dirt as he looked up at it, tilting one side of his head like a dog trying to listen to a far-off sound.

“I will NOT follow you into that good night! Your roof of needles will not stay the hand that searches!” He picked up a stick and hefted it at the animal, who lazily flapped to one side to avoid it. The stick crashed harmlessly through the branches on its way back towards the ground. The bird spread its tan-coloured wings, showing darker streaks of red near the edges, and dived off the branch. It whipped up the air above them as it swooped down low, but it seemed to mean them no harm. It wheeled over their heads three times, before sailing off to the north-east.

“Well. That was ominous.” Athena muttered. She winced as she got to her feet. “It had a collar on, did you see that?”

Janey opened her mouth to answer, when they heard shouts and the distant clatter of hoofbeats over the Opportunity bridge.

“We should go.”

***


	2. Rhys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medieval fantasy is fun as heck and I'm surprised at how many ways we're finding to translate Borderlands into this AU. I'm proud of us! Anyways, enjoy our lordling who is simply doing his best.

Dark rain clouds obscured the sunrise, and for all the quiet it could have been night-time. Rhys yawned as he took his seat at the head of the audience chamber. The torches that lined the walls bathed the hall in a dim, warm glow. It would have been calming, if Rhys didn’t already feel so on edge.

Usually, he was relieved when it rained on the days that he held court. It meant fewer petitioners - those with trivial matters wouldn’t make the muddy uphill journey to Oldhaven Keep. No marriage proposals nor petty complaints about taxes. The same was true today, only one knight sought an audience with him. If only Sir Albus Roth hadn’t come bearing four criminals to be sentenced. Rhys nervously traced his fingers over the carved pine martens that decorated the arms of his seat as he awaited his guest.

“I know I’ve said this before, but you really should leave the sentencing to Yvette. She’s...More equipped for it than you, and it wouldn’t be the first time a lord’s used their steward to carry out justice.” Vaughn had advised when he’d arrived.

It was no secret that Rhys always dreaded the task. But there were too many eyes on him these days, looking for any sign that he was weak or unfit for his duty. He’d slipped up one too many times. Or maybe a few hundred too many times. Eighteen years of lordship, beginning when he was only eight, gave him ample opportunity to make mistakes. Justice was one of his greatest weak points. He was famously lenient, perhaps to the point of folly. But as he saw it, sending someone to judge in his place showed more weakness than leniency did. At least, he hoped that were the case.

“Bring the first one in,” he commanded his guard.

The first three criminals proved to be easy enough to sentence. First, a cheater at dice, who earned two hours in the pillory. The next was unable to pay the five silver skags for drunkenness and disorder, and was sentenced to neighbor the first. The third a woman accused of heresy, he fined her a groat - the mildest punishment he had, for what he hardly considered a crime.

Then there was the fourth. A manacled thief, captured in Jaynistown. He was an older man, perhaps in his sixties, balding and underfed, but with the broad shoulders and sturdy build of a long-time miner. Right away Rhys recognized the man. He couldn’t remember his name, but he’d been in that very spot only six months past, and another time a year ago. The first time he’d been caught stealing silver ore from the mines. The customary punishment for a first-time thief was the removal of three fingers on the right hand. Rhys sentenced him to two hours in the pillory and forbade him from working the mines.

The second time it was bread he’d stolen. The punishment for a second offender would normally be the removal of a hand, but again, Rhys couldn’t bear to have him mutilated. It was an act done out of desperation, not evil intent. To take a hand for a loaf of bread seemed an unjust trade. He had instead sentenced him to be flogged, and even that he’d been loath to do. Still, the man went on his knees, tearfully thanking him for his mercy. And Rhys warned him that if there was a next time, he would take the hand. He’d tried his best to sound resolute, he thought he sounded resolute, but perhaps the man believed his reputation of being lenient over his words. He’d been caught pickpocketing this time.  
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

The thief bowed his head, trembling. “Please, m’lord, I’d only stolen three stars- I was hungry. Only this once. I-I won’t do it again, I swear to it!”

Right away Rhys knew both his admission and his promise to be lies. Still, he looked to Sir Roth for his input.

“This time he had indeed stolen three stars, my lord. But villagers in Jaynistown had suspected him of thieving for months, and I would believe it to be the case. His farm is said to be failing, he has no valuable skills, and still he has yet to fall into beggary,” the knight said.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Rhys asked the thief, forcing any pity out of his gaze. If he’d taken the three fingers the first time, maybe the man would have never committed another crime. But even now, it seemed so barbaric...

The thief stared ahead blankly, shaking his head.

_Damnit._ As he looked at the man, a thought came to him - not a random thought, but one of sudden, definite knowledge: _A week ago this man helped to repair a fence for his neighbor, a widowed mother of three young children. A fallen tree had taken it out, and she feared that her milk cow would wander away. He asked for nothing in return, only hoping to lighten her load. _  
Rhys wanted to punch him for that. Why did he have to make this so difficult? Rhys would have rather learned that the man kicked puppies or spat on beggars. He silently cursed both his cursed eye and his conscience.__

To show mercy would be to call into question his willingness to follow through on every threat he’d ever made.  
“Last time you were here, I told you that you’d lose your hand if I saw you again. You’ve already had two chances. I… M-Most lords would hang you for this! Why would you keep doing this?! I don’t have any use for a dismembered hand! I-I don’t want to cripple you!” He felt himself losing control of his tone, and realized he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He took a deep breath. This would come back to bite him in the ass, but, “Three fingers. Let...Let him choose which ones. Vaughn- tend to the wounds.”

He unceremoniously stormed out before the guards even dragged the prisoner away. The door swung shut behind him, with a dull thump, leaving alone Rhys in the dim long gallery. The windows gave scarcely enough light for Rhys to see the silhouettes of his own hands. Sighing, he leaned against the stone wall, pressing his palm over his left eye - as if he could force the curse out of it.

Ruling meant imparting the King’s justice, but every criminal put before him gave him some unwanted glimpse of their lives. The cheat had been saving coin to buy a watchdog, to protect his family. The drunk often told epic tales that he could only ever half-remember, but children still crowded around him to listen. The heretic played the woodharp poorly and fancied herself a bard. It never was much, often only a vague thought, a fleeting image. But it was enough to make him weak.

Hopefully, the act of mutilation would be enough for Rhys’s detractors. Hopefully, his household guard would have enough sense not to gossip about this incident. And hopefully, the thief learned his lesson. If he didn’t, Rhys would be expected to take both hands. Losing one hand was enough to beggar a man. Anything more and he might as well have the man hanged. Even now Rhys wondered if the man would still be able to fix fences and tend crops with only seven fingers.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open.  
“Oh good, I was worried you might have run off.” Vaughn softly closed the door behind him.

“I thought I told you to tend to the man’s wounds,” Rhys said, his tone bitter to hide his relief at seeing Vaughn.

“And I told the guards to not do anything until I joined them. I wanted to make sure you’re alright.” He offered a wan smile. “I mean, of course, you aren’t, you uh... You wouldn’t have said any of that if you were. Plus, you wouldn’t be moping in the dark. Was it your eye, again?”

“I-I’m not moping,” Rhys protested. “I’m just...Thinking.”

“You’re thinking, in the dark, with a miserable look on your face.” Vaughn produced a firesteel and flint from his pocket, approaching the sconce on the wall. The torch flared to life with a single, deft strike. That, my friend, is moping.”

He could always count on Vaughn to be blunt. They’d no formalities between them, and little acknowledgment of their respective ranks. Vaughn had been his friend since he was a boy, a second son to a minor noble house, fostered at Oldhaven until he left for a maester’s college at fourteen. The two kept in touch by raven, and five years later Vaughn came back a fully-fledged maester, ready to serve as Rhys’s trusted advisor, bookkeeper, and healer.

“Fine, I’m moping. But do you know what they’re calling me now? Lord Softfork the Spineless!”

Vaughn snorted. “Sorry, but really? Who calls you that?”

“Vasquez, Katagawa, half the guard, and by now, Sir Roth.” Rhys pushed himself from the wall.

“Not the most clever of names. Besides, the smallfolk love you. You’ve even convinced them that you’re chivalrous and honorable. Which is...Impressive, to say the least.”

“I… I guess that does actually help, some. I can’t deny that I’m charming.” He flashed the best smile he could manage- which was rather weak, considering his mood.

“Yes, very charming,” Vaughn said, flatly. “Anyway, you uh, you’re being too hard on yourself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as relieved to lose fingers as that thief back there. Because, you know. Fingers. Instead of his entire hand. Besides, we have ten fingers for a reason, right? Heh. That uh...That might have been in poor taste. Sorry.” Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck.

“Eh. You can’t really make me feel much worse than I do.” Rhys shrugged. “You should probably get going, it seems even crueler to leave him in suspense. If anyone needs me, I’ll be… In my chambers? Or, more likely the library.” Research would let him take his mind off things. “Have you seen Elby around? I’ve been teaching him to fetch scrolls.” It was childish, but he knew Vaughn would humor him if it kept him from wallowing in his guilt.

Vaughn shrugged. “Check the rookery? I chased your oversized weasel out of there three times last night- maybe you could teach him to stay out before you start trying tricks.”

“Or you could always train the ravens to build their nests higher.” Rhys said as he turned to leave. “They’re supposed to be smart, and they know there’s a marten, right? Why make their eggs so easy to get?”

The Oldhaven library was a modest one, as far as the number of volumes it contained went. Rhys had sold off most of the less useful fare to replace it with all manner of books on Eridians, Vaults, magic, and ancient relics. Quite a few of the books were rare or valuable, Rhys got original copies when he could, better yet were those illuminated in the scholar’s own hand. Those ones told always him the most.

Elby slept in Rhys’s lap, his slender body curled into a yellow-white ball of fur. Rhys absentmindedly pet him as he poured over a heavy tome, _Ancient Gates; or, The Origin of Vaults, Being a Pictorial History of the Ancient Eridians From the Earliest Age, With Consideration to the Building of the Vaults; Including Speculation on The Eridian Extinction Preceding the Age of Man, The Powers of the Sirens, and the Prophecies of the Modern Vault Touched; Volume III_ by Maester Patricia Tannis. Maester Tannis’s titles tended to be pretentious mouthfuls, but the books themselves often seemed to be the most reliable source on Vaults. Save for the fact that she offered nothing on how one would go about locating the missing half of a key. Still, it had an entire two pages dedicated to the Strongfork’s key half, beautifully illustrated with his house’s sigil, a golden pine marten, curled around the artifact. Tannis presented a few different theories on what became of the other half, but judged it most likely destroyed- a conclusion Rhys knew to be wrong, perhaps even a purposeful lie.

His eye sometimes proved to be a boon, most often when it came to his studies of the Vault. It gave him knowledge of other people most reliably, but any object would give him something. He knew Elby was dreaming of chasing squirrels. He knew the raven his quill came from was the large, bitey one, trained to fly between Oldhaven and Fyrestone.

And, the first time he glimpsed _Ancient Gates_ , Rhys knew that Maester Tannis held the heretical belief that opening the Vault would lead to complete devastation. He didn’t consider himself a religious man, heresy meant nothing to him, but the Vault was part of his family’s legacy, and opening it for King Jack would be Rhys’s means to greatness. Besides, most other scholars in the subject held the belief that whatever was in the Vault would lead the kingdom into a new era of prosperity and power, and his eye had yet to tell him that was untrue.

Elby heard Vaughn enter the room before Rhys did. The pine marten’s pale red eyes snapped open, and he clawed his way up to Rhys’s shoulder, preparing to ambush the hapless maester. Without looking back, Rhys grabbed Elby just as he began to leap, earning himself a few nips.

“Thank you, Rhys,” Vaughn said, relieved. Elby’s fun would often leave his unprepared victim covered with numerous scratches and bites.

Elby wriggled and bit his way out of Rhys’s grip when he stood up, turning to face Vaughn. “A raven came?”

“Yes, how did you-? Oh. Right. Rhys, your eye can be kind of unsettling, have I ever told you that?” Vaughn dug in his pockets, retrieving the rolled up parchment. “It’s from Lord Vasquez.”

Rhys groaned in an unlordly manner. Before inheriting his own seat at Demophon Castle, Vasquez had taken it upon himself to “guide” the eight year old Rhys, who’d only just inherited his own lordship.

Even then Rhys’s eye gave him truths about people, but it rarely gave him the truths he needed. For eight years he unknowingly acted as a pawn in Vasquez’s schemes. It was pure happenstance that at sixteen years old he’d glanced at his recently appointed castellan, and suddenly knew the man to be on Vasquez’s payroll.

Vasquez never forgave him for having him and his men unceremoniously escorted from the castle.

“Is it important?” he asked.

“Maybe you misheard me. _Lord. Vas. Quez_.” Vaughn sounded it out slowly.

“What is it this time? Trying to set me up with another one of his vile cousins? Or have I done something to offend him again? Or let me guess, I-”

“It’s an invitation.” Vaughn interrupted, gently.

“Decline it.” Rhys didn’t care to hear more.

Vaughn ignored him and read from the parchment, “To Rhys Strongfork, Lord of Oldhaven Keep and Keeper of the Broken Key, Lord Hugo Vasquez requests the honor of your presence at the tournament in celebration of his lordship’s wedding to the lady Cybil Redwar, on the-”

“So he can celebrate his riches, you mean,” Rhys corrected.

This didn’t amuse Vaughn. “Rhys, I’d _strongly_ advise you to attend. You’ve already insulted him by not showing up to the wedding, and you know he’ll notice if you don’t make an appearance.”

“He could use the insulting.”

Vaughn sighed, pinching his brow. “As your maester, and as your friend, it would be a good idea for you to listen to me. This isn’t just about Lord Vasquez. He’s undoubtedly invited every house in the Highlands. You haven’t attended a tourney in years, and that last melee...”

“Sir Hoffman’s skull was _crushed_.” Rhys cringed at the memory of it. “I was _fifteen_. You- You would have fainted too. It’s barbaric.”

“Rhys, I’ve studied flayed cadavers. I’m long past fainting at the sight of blood. And, to be entirely fair, usually that doesn’t happen. But that’s not the point. The point is, people will start talking. I mean, they’re probably already talking! Not-Not because of you being exceedingly merciful- I mean, Vasquez probably does that, and his friends, but I’m talking about the smallfolk. As much as they like you now, you’re still an unmarried lord, with an unceremoniously broken betrothal, no heir, and no stomach for combat? People are going to start looking at Katagawa and wondering if he’s more fit to rule.”

And there was that bluntness again.  
“Damnit.” Rhys sighed, defeated. “I really wish you weren’t right...I’ll have to bring a gift, won’t I?”

Vaughn’s made no effort to hide his satisfaction. “It’s customary, yes.”

A smirk forming on Rhys’s lips. “How about one of our mules? In honor of Lord Hugo’s sigil.”

Vaughn crossed his arms, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“I know, I know, but we don’t have a donkey. Still! We can have tourney barding made in his colors, and he can ride it in the tilts.”

“Rhys,” Vaughn was trying to be stern, but Rhys saw his lips twitch as he fought a smile.

“You’re right, he’d kill me for that- but still, just imagine the look on his face,” Rhys laughed derisively. “Might even be worth dying for.”

Vaughn wasn’t able to hide his smile any longer, he liked Vasquez no more than Rhys did.  
“Probably, but if you die, I’d be the one left serving his insufferable lordship. I don’t exactly relish the idea of losing my mind in Katagawa’s service, believe it or not. I’ll find a _suitable_ gift, and you’ll write your _most courteous_ acceptance. With apologies for missing the wedding.”

“Do I have to? Can’t you write something?” Rhys took on the affectation of a whiny child.

“He definitely knows your hand by now. I hate to say it, but you’re probably going to want to flatter him as much as you can, and avoid offending him at all costs.”

“Of course.” Rhys made himself sound confident. As he looked at the parchment in Vaughn’s hands, he knew he offended Lord Hugo Vasquez simply through his continued existence.


End file.
